


Magnetic Moon

by stillmumu



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Happy Ending, Lesbian AU, Light Angst, Light Dialogue, Sad with a Happy Ending, Stress Relief, it's not as depressing as i'm making it seem, jankie, my poetry roots really showed in this one, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:29:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25734352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillmumu/pseuds/stillmumu
Summary: Some nights are hard for Jackie, but Jan makes it better. (or: Jackie stops fighting the moon's pull.)
Relationships: Jackie Cox/Jan Sport
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	Magnetic Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song Magnetic Moon - Tiffany Young

The first time Jackie stays over it’s because she’s lonely.

Her roommates have both gone back home for Christmas break, so it’s just her and her blankets and an empty apartment and the cold air that comes through the gap in the window. Jackie doesn’t know why but the tears find their way down her cheeks, cold and salty, and there’s a metallic taste in her mouth. She can feel the unease brewing in her gut, her breaths getting shorter and her vision going staticky, so she does the only thing she can think of: she goes over to Jan’s.

The blonde girl doesn’t ask questions when she opens the door to find Jackie there. She just takes one look at Jackie’s shivering frame and ushers her in, wrapping her in a thick coat and bringing Jackie her signature “magic hot chocolate.” The name makes Jackie smile softly through the fog in her head. 

Jan stays with her through the night, arms wrapped protectively around her, the tv playing at a low volume so that it’s not totally quiet. Jan knows Jackie doesn’t like it when it’s quiet. Her thoughts get too loud. When Jackie wakes up in the morning, her mug of hot chocolate is sitting at her feet, cold, and the marshmallows are melting.

The sunlight makes everything too real. She splashes her face with cold water in Jan’s bathroom and slips out, mind already working double time at the mere thought of how much study time she missed. When Jan catches her eye in Psych 101 the next day, she pretends not to notice.

Jackie’s fine. She always is.

The second time it’s because Jackie stays too late at the library by accident and misses curfew. She’s still carrying her textbook and notebook (colour-coordinated, of course) when she knocks on Jan’s dorm door, praying that Jan’s roommate is out. Jan lets her in. She holds Jackie’s hair back when she throws up into her trash can, covers Jackie’s shaking hands with her own and sings Ariana Grande lyrics to her softly. They might have some kind of meaning, but Jackie’s too drained to understand.

She still doesn’t ask questions, and Jackie’s grateful for that. Nighttime is always hard for her. Something about the crisp air and moonlight always seems to make her feel so insignificant, like everything she’s done isn’t worth anything at all.

Jackie doesn’t sleep that night, but Jan stays up with her anyways, braiding her hair and then unbraiding it again for hours. They don’t speak, the atmosphere too sacred, both of them too worried about spooking each other. Jackie swallows over the fuzzy feeling in her mouth and the half-formed words in her throat. 

In the morning she swishes coffee to get rid of the remnants of those unripe confessions, relishing in the way the ice clinks against her teeth and goosebumps rise on her skin. There are three unread texts from a number Jackie doesn’t have saved in her phone, but one that she’s memorized. It’s Jan, and Jackie presses delete without reading them. 

She skips her classes, cramming for her next exam in her apartment on her own instead. She doesn’t eat, basking in the lightheaded feeling for the rest of the day. When she feels sleepy, Jackie presses tea bags to the purple skies under her eyes and rubs lemon balm on both her wrists to get rid of the peach smell of Jan’s perfume. She tells herself she can’t afford to go back to Jan’s again, not when it’s getting harder and harder to leave.

Jackie ends up at Jan’s two weeks later anyway. It’s raining outside, and she doesn’t have an excuse. Does it even matter why she’s here anymore? 

Jan pulls her into her lap and lets her cry, lets Jackie be childish and make grabby hands at her every time she shifts positions, scared that Jan will leave. Jan’s skin is warm against hers and Jackie likes it, likes how she feels safe in the familiar cloud of Jan’s scent, likes the smoothness of Jan under her fingertips. Jackie wants her over her skin.

“Jan,” Jackie whispers. Her voice comes out hoarse, and she regrets speaking as soon as the other girl’s name passes her lips.

Jan’s fingers still. There are a few moments of silence, and Jackie feels cement start to set in her veins.

Jackie turns her head to face Jan, and their lips collide softly. She lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in a rush. Jan sweeps a hand over to the back of her neck, fingertips sliding against Jackie’s hair. Jackie’s convinced her skin has gone translucent where Jan’s touched her, that all the colour has been leached from the section and if she were to hold a mirror up that spot you would be able to see a spider web of veins, all the purple and blue and red in all its glory: the inner workings of herself laid bare for Jan to see.

Jan’s free hand falls from her hair and the feeling makes Jackie panic, makes her come back down to earth and slide off of Jan’s lap. She feels the soreness build at the back of her throat, the familiar shaking of her hands when she goes to gather her stuff. Jan’s saying something, voice soft and gentle like she’s speaking to a toddler, and Jackie can’t make out any of the words. 

She’s out of the apartment as quickly as she got there, barefoot on the dirt lawn. She can’t suppress the shudder that racks her whole body when the wind envelopes her. Jackie’s cold without Jan’s skin over hers, and the thought makes her hurl Jan’s hot chocolate up into the bushes. The streetlights are reflected in the puddles on the ground, and Jackie catches her reflection in them too. She’s not sure whether to laugh or sob at the sight.

Her hair is wet, her clothes completely soaked. The sky hasn’t fallen, and the world is still turning, and the revelation makes her even more horrified.

Jan’s chased her outside, trying to get close to her. Jan’s hands go to hold her, to lead her back inside, and Jackie flinches away, rambling something about _I can’t, I can’t, I can’t._ At some point, Jan gives up and just stands there. The moonlight accents her cheekbones, backlights her until she looks like some sort of angel. Jackie can’t meet her eyes.

“Stay,” Jan says.

Jackie shakes her head, feels her whole body tremble with a sob. She bites it back, choking on the pain when her teeth sink into her left cheek.

“Stay,” Jan says again.

The rain pours down on them. The distance between the two girls feels so far now, like the ground’s opening between them, cracking and heaving until they are continents away from each other. Jackie’s bangs are stuck to her forehead, dribbling a thin stream of water into her eyes. The feeling of Jan’s hand in hers has begun to fade, and the smell of mud overpowers the peach that usually trails Jackie after each visit.

Jan goes back inside. It doesn’t hurt like Jackie’s expecting it to, not when the rain is heavy enough that she can convince herself it’s washed everything away, even the last wisps of whatever they were.

A month passes.

Jackie goes to the grocery store and buys a bottle of wine. She doesn’t mean to drink it all, but there’s no one to share it with. She falls asleep with stained lips, tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth like the tension might keep the tears at bay, body curled into an absent form. Her pillow’s too cold, and her blanket too warm. She’s been skipping her lectures, grades only kept afloat by her previous scores. She trails the campus like a ghost, afraid that touching anything will make it all too real.

Another month. 

It’s been a year since that first visit. Jackie feels hysteria bubbling against her teeth every time she sees a flash of blonde hair. Sometimes she dreams of Jan’s voice, softly singing, and afterwards, she wakes up with sticky cheeks. Maybe they’re just out of time. And words.

Jackie doesn’t know how she ends up at Jan’s that night. They click into place, and nothing shatters. 

Jan’s hand snakes to her waist, her body on top of Jackie’s. They’re on the rooftop, under the night sky. The air is sharp, and Jackie’s delirious off of their gentle sin. 

_Look_ , she wants to call out to the universe, _I’m still here_. _Why haven’t you struck me down yet?_

She couldn’t leave right now if she tried.

“Stay,” Jan says when they’re done. (Or undone, Jackie supposes.)

It’s not a question this time. The moon is softer tonight, and something pepperminty and midnight blue is blooming under Jackie’s fingernails. Jan runs a fingertip over her bottom lip. Two bass notes sound in Jackie’s head, and then static. 

When the morning comes, Jackie’s still pressed against Jan’s chest.


End file.
